


Some people call it crazy (well I call it healing)

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Series: We Could Be Heroes [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:23:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sunspear is on the Southside, and so are the Martells. Sometimes, it feels like everyone'd be happier if they just stayed there.</p><p>Everyone'd probably be safer, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sarella

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerhall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerhall/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Sarella A. Martell, with her little surgery near the Sun Spear, general practitioner and occasional volunteer carer at the local old folks' home.
> 
> And sawbones. Don't forget that.

Sarella had always liked knives.

She figured it was more because of her dad than her mom - the Viper, because he was more the Viper than he'd ever been Oberyn, who liked stealth sometimes, even though he usually got bored and sort of exploded all Doran's careful plans.

But yeah, Sarella was good with knives, had been since she was small and Viper let her help him cook and... Cook the other stuff, the stuff that she wasn't allowed to touch with her bare hands, never mind _eat._  

He'd never been into having her sisters help him cook. Sarella had wondered about that, sometimes. It really was as if he'd been preparing them for the roles the family needed them to fill or something.

That was kind of a Doran thing to do, though, so it was probably more him than Viper. Whatever.

 

* * *

 

She'd put her talent for knives to good use, of course. Doran had made sure she had a spotless record - well, Tyene had, but at Doran's urging - and the perfect grades were, in a weird way, kind of fun. Sarella enjoyed a challenge, and there had been few things she'd ever found as challenging as being the only black girl in her AP Biology class in her milky-white school (and being half Ethiopian, half Moroccan-American, had made it that little bit harder).

Still, she'd done it, and then off to the Citadel for pre-med.

And here she was, after pre-med and med and general surgery and triage med.

Sitting in her plush, wood-panelled office, prescription med dealer to the rich and infamous.

What a joke.

 

* * *

 

She'd been the one to suggest penicillin for Bobby Baratheon, when she'd been in covering for one of the other docs in the ER and he'd been brought in with a gunshot wound to the abdomen.

She'd also been the one to erase his allergy to penicillin from his records. She was good at shit like that.

 

* * *

 

Sarella had a secret dream, though, one that tied in to her affinity for cutting edges.

She wanted to take one of those cutting edges to the bitch that had sold out her aunty and cousins to the Baratheons and Lannisters just because she'd never gotten over being rejected for Aunty Elia.

Sarella wanted to see if Cersei Lannister's blood ran as red as her lipstick.


	2. Trystane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's fucking weird, he knows it is, but Trys fucking loves fucking shit up.

It was fucking weird, he knew it was, but Trys fucking _loved_ fucking shit up.

The thing was, and he knew that this was probably chicken, but he loved it because he just did his thing - which was  _fun_ \- and that was that. He never had to get his hands dirty, never had to leave his gleaming glass-and-chrome office in the west corner of the top floor of the Sunspear, never had to see the aftermath.

All he had to do was click and type and play. Because it _was_  all a fucking game, no matter what Dad said. Trys had always been with Uncle Obe on that one.

 

* * *

 

It had started getting real about six months ago, when Sarella killed Bob Baratheon.

Trys had been pretty sure Dad was going to kill  _her_ , but she was Sarella, and she was the only one who actually took Dad's health into consideration outside of, like, Trys and Uncle Obe, so she got away with it. Sarella was too useful to kill, and besides, Dad didn't hold with killing family. He'd said something about that being a Targaryen thing, once, when he was out of his head on morphine, and when Trys had tried to bring it up after, Dad had just gone all closed up and stopped.

It was times like that that Trys wished Ma hadn't gone back to Portugal, but she had, and Lisbon was a long, long way off when Dad was refusing to talk about anything and the heat was on because the Baratheons and Lannisters had gotten the post-mortem results and wanted blood for blood.

That was why Trys was carrying that night. Shit, he'd just wanted to visit his fucking boyfriend and their girlfriend on his way from the office to Dad's place, why was that such a crime? Why had the Lannisters singled  _him_ out? Ned had kissed him goodbye at the door, and Trys had barely gotten to his car before the bullet had sliced across his thigh.

He was a good shot - Dad had made them all promise they would be, even Ma, made them all promise that they'd practice at the range at least twice a week, and Trys was an asshole about a lot of commitments but not about that one - and caught Joff Baratheon, in his mask and all that swanky Kevlar, right through the shoulder.

And then Trys levelled his gun at Baratheon's head, waited until the piece of shit begged for his life, and shot him in the stomach. He made sure to call Uncle Obe and an ambulance before he legged it, of course, and then he got to Dad's as quick as he could. 

It was all over the news the next day, of course. Joff Baratheon was a Somebody even when he wasn't playing his part in the masquerade, so of  _course_ it was news that he'd been left for dead on a street in Southside wearing a fucking  _mask_ and carrying enough weaponry to take out the entire city council.

 

* * *

 

 

Trys didn't much remember his aunt Elia. He'd only been a kid when she was murdered - hell, Ma had still lived with them full time back then, and Trys barely remembered  _that,_ barely remembered the time before joint custody which had morphed, thanks to Dad's influence and being a dickhead, into full custody and Ma moving back to Portugal.

So he didn't think much of it when a good looking kid with blue hair, hipster glasses, and a lip ring slid into the seat across from him in the coffee shop under the Sunspear one sunny Tuesday afternoon. Trys had kind of expected that he'd have to keep his head down after the shooting, especially considering everyone in the fucking world seemed to know he'd been the one to pull the trigger, but Dad and Obe had done their thing and everything was chill, so whatever. He liked this place, and it was within shouting distance of the Spear, so he wasn't exactly in the danger zone or anything.

"You're Trystane Martell," Hipster Blue said, and there was something oddly familiar about his face, now Trys looked closer.

"Trys," he corrected. "Only my father calls me Trystane. And you are?"

"Egg," Hipster Blue said, holding out his hand. "Egg Targaryen."

Trys blinked hard, and then pulled out the earbud he'd not bothered to remove from his left ear.

"Fucking shit," he said. "You're serious?"

Shireen Baratheon was sitting across the room, and she got up to say hi when Trys threw his head back to try and not throw up.

"You're  _dead_ ," he managed, slamming his laptop shut and poking "Egg Targaryen" in the chest. "I remember, Uncle Obe lost his shit over it, you're fucking  _dead!"_

Shireen's hand on "Egg's" shoulder nearly made Trys lose  _his_  shit, never mind what it'd do to Uncle Obe or to Dad, and Egg - fuck, it had to be him, he smiled just like Sarella and he had those stupid fucking ears just like Quent's - grinned.

"Not anymore," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Burn It Down' by AWOLNATION


End file.
